


Welcome to Starbucks

by thekingslover



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Coffee Shop, M/M, Soulmates, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/pseuds/thekingslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver knows every time he goes into Starbucks that the person behind the counter probably isn’t his soulmate. But with the words written in messy script across his arm, “Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?” he can’t help but hope that maybe - just maybe - this time will be the right one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Starbucks

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr post: http://monicashipscoliver.tumblr.com/post/111306717946/danydehaan-tumblr-really-likes-that-soulmates
> 
> Originally posted on my tumblr coliver sideblog: monicashipscoliver

Oliver _knows_ every time he goes into Starbucks that the person behind the counter _probably_ isn’t his soulmate. But with the words written in messy script across his arm, “Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?” he can’t help but hope that maybe - just _maybe_ \- this time will be the right one. 

In his twenties, he goes to Starbucks much more often than he should, until he meets everyone on the payroll. Then he finds a new store, new faces, new friends, but never _the one_.

By thirty, he’s tired of the disappointment, the heartache, and the heartburn. He switches to decaf, and only goes into Starbucks every other Monday.

* * *

The man behind the counter has a kind smile and massive biceps.

"Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?" he asks, and Oliver’s breath catches. Sure, they all say that. They’re supposed to. But this guy has laugh lines. Wide shoulders. Very kissable lips.

Oliver thinks, _If this is the one, I’d be happy._

He takes a deep breath, and says, “Decaf.”

The man nods and punches Oliver’s order into the cash register. He doesn’t say anything as Oliver hands over the money and gets his change. 

The man makes Oliver’s drink and brings it to him.

Oliver should let this go. If this man were his soulmate, he would have said _something_. Still, this man is hot and nice and Oliver would kick himself if he leaves here without being sure.

"Excuse me," Oliver says. Even after having this conversation countless times, the words aren’t any easier to find. Instead he rolls up his sleeve to show the man the words on his arm. "It’s just…"

The man’s smile softens as he shakes his head. “Sorry, man.” He shrugs. “I’m waiting for someone to order a grande skinny latte, extra cream.”

Oliver leaves the store with a decaf coffee in his hands and his heart in pieces at his feet.

He vows to never go to Starbucks again.

* * *

He goes back one early morning three months later. It’s summer now, and Oliver’s a little late for work. But if he doesn’t get a pick-me-up, he’s likely to fall asleep in his chair. He’s taken on too much work around the office, too many late nights.

He’d rather work than think about the words on his arm.

He’s not excited this time. Not nervous. He’s just _tired_.

Files in hand, he scribbles down some last minute notes on a project he needs to turn in at 9 am sharp. He checks his watch. 8:30. He should have enough time to sit down and go over it one last time before -

"Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?"

Oliver glances up, and drops his pen.

The man behind the counter has dark, smoldering eyes and a smirk so sharp, it’s downright _deadly_. He’s thin but fit, with a button-up black shirt and black pants, well-dressed even under that Starbucks apron.

If Mr. Biceps had been attractive, though Oliver hardly remembers him now, this guy is _on fire_. 

He lifts one eyebrow as Oliver stares. But then smiles, gaze flitting down Oliver’s front and back again. He opens his mouth to say something else, just as Oliver mumbles.

"Oh, please let this be the one."

The man’s smile slips right off his face. “What did you just say?”

Face burning, Oliver slams his mouth closed. _Why did he say that? Of all things_. He waits for the ground to swallow him whole. When that doesn’t immediately happen, he stammers, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

"You," the man starts, voice strong, though it falters fast. He looks Oliver up and down again. His lips part.

"I’m so sorry," Oliver says again.

The man shakes his head and starts rolling up his sleeve. “Where’s yours?”

Oliver blinks. “My… what?”

The man holds out his arm. Across the inside of his forearm, written in Oliver’s neat script, reads, “Oh, please let this be the one.”

Oliver drops the file, too. With shaking hands he rolls up his own sleeve, then shows his arm to the man, who rolls his eyes.

"I knew I should have said something sexier. Hottest guy in the world walks in, and all I do is stick to the script."

"You… and I…" Oliver can’t wrap his brain around this. He’s been going to so many different Starbucks for _years_ looking for his soulmate, and here he is, in the Starbucks ten minutes from his apartment.

"My name’s Connor," the man says. He unties his apron and leaves it on the counter.

"Oliver," Oliver somehow manages, as Connor comes around to him. Connor steps over Oliver’s files, reaches for his face, and then brings him down for a heated kiss.

And _holy shit_ , it’s perfect. Too much teeth maybe, with all their desperation, but Connor tastes like coffee. His lips are soft. His tongue, persistent.

Oliver wraps his arms around Connor’s waist and brings him closer. Brain catching up now, with the warmth of Connor against him, the very _real_ feel of him in his arms.

_My soulmate._

Oliver pours everything into that kiss. All the years of waiting, the heartache, the longing. The _relief_ at finally having found _…_

_"Connor,"_ Oliver breathes against his lips.

Connor whispers, “Holy fuck,” in reply before delving back in for more - more that Oliver is happy to give.

* * *

Later, when they are tangled and sated in bed, Connor traces the words on Oliver’s arm. “I can’t believe _this_ is the first thing I said to you.”

Smiling, Oliver turns in his arms to kiss him softly on the cheek. “So long as it’s not the last.”

Connor smiles, too, as he returns each of Oliver’s kisses. “Not a chance.”

* * *

They’re married in a year. Connor insists, to anyone who asks how they met, that he asked for Oliver’s coffee order in the sexiest way possible.

Oliver can’t argue with that.


End file.
